


Leaving Home

by aistifcisi



Series: One-shots inspired by FrostedGear's "Finding Home" [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asgard sucks, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Good Laufey, Jötunn Loki, Laufey's Good Parenting (Marvel), Loki Leaves Asgard, One-Shot, oh yeah and also, well "left" is more accurate in this case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29162724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aistifcisi/pseuds/aistifcisi
Summary: My interpretation of how Loki might have broken the news of his leaving to his father and brother.
Relationships: Byleistr & Loki, Laufey & Loki (Marvel)
Series: One-shots inspired by FrostedGear's "Finding Home" [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140749
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	Leaving Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrostedGear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedGear/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Finding Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28693764) by [FrostedGear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedGear/pseuds/FrostedGear). 



> Basically, this is my feeble attempt at breaking out of writer's block and executive dysfunction with a short one-shot. Many thanks to FrostedGear for giving me permission to dabble in their AU! Go check out their fic first if you found this before theirs, of course.

“You’ve got something on your mind, Brother,” Býleistr spoke up from across the low table, matter-of-factly and without looking up from his dinner. Though their father did raise an eyebrow slightly at the declaration. Loki found his mouth quirking upwards softly despite himself.

“I see you’re as perceptive as ever, Bý.” He faltered, only somewhat, as one of his hands pinched the other over his lap, a nervous tick he hadn’t ever quite managed to shake off. “I wish to leave Jötunheimr.”

He wasn’t necessarily disconcerted when Father simply nodded in understanding and asked “For travel, I’m assuming?”, however he was still taken aback a bit by how nonchalant the response was. In a good way, of course. Truly, even after all these years, Loki couldn’t help his astonishment at the freedom, the autonomy that he was granted. Here, in this realm of shadowed ice, he had no need to sneak around, to cloak himself and hide away from the gaze of the all-seeing, or from the scrutinizing of the (supposedly) all-wise and knowing.

“Yes, indeed,” he confirmed, and then continued, “With no offense to our home, I am beginning to become restless.”

“Very much expected. Those who can walk the branches of Yggdrasill do not tend to favour a settled life,” Father said easily.

“It’s surprising, actually,” Býleistr added, “that you should bring this up now, after four hundred years. I’d have expected the topic to come up much sooner.” Loki shrugged, hesitant to admit but nevertheless wanting to.

“I was unsure- worried of how you would react.” His brother let out a huff of anger at his answer. Father merely sighed.

“Even now, Asgard still holds power over you.” He looked into Loki’s eyes with purpose then, and said, “You are well aware I won’t ever stifle you as Odin dared, correct? I wish from you nothing but for you to improve upon yourself.” Loki felt himself truly smiling at that.

“Of course, I’m very well aware. You’ve always made it well known. It’s just that,” he paused, trying to find the best way to explain himself, “more than half my life I spent there, among the Asgardians, and under their norms and rules. All those centuries I walked in their golden halls... they are not times I can simply forget.” Father hummed thoughtfully.

“No, I suppose you cannot.” He shook his head. “In any case, I would like to believe you are doing better, now that you are out of Asgard’s grasp.”

“Oh, definitely.” That was out of the question. The soft, _genuine_ smile still gracing his lips was proof enough, never mind everything else he had gained since leaving Asgard behind. He wasn’t just allowed to practice his seidr, he was encouraged to, including the Jötunn-specific ice magics Odin One-Eye would have no doubt loathed for him to discover. His accomplishments weren’t ignored (at best) or belittled (at worst). Quite the opposite of his past experiences, he was celebrated for his magical leanings, respected in the Jötunn court and praised by his family and friends. He _had_ friends, and ones who could understand him as fellow magic users no less. He had no fear of punishment or scorn from those who claimed to care for him; for his yearnings, for inherent traits, for benign mischief. The first time he had gathered the courage to pull off a prank in Jötunheimr, on Angrboda, the Jötnar had laughed. The Witch of Iron Wood herself had laughed. People had laughed along with him, rather than at him after the fact, when he would have gotten his “comeuppance”. Loki couldn’t recall ever being happier, truly. But... even still, he was what he was.

He was a traveler, a worldwalker as his family so often called: nomadic.

“Have you decided when you will be going?” Býleistr said, breaking Loki from his thoughts. It was obvious enough that he wanted to change the topic. Loki was willing to oblige.

“Oh, whenever Helblindi is able to meet,” he quipped, making the other two Jötnar present in the private dining quarters chuckle.

“So, as soon as possible then,” his brother figured. “And to where will you be running off to?” he asked, inquisitive.

“Midgard.” He allowed for a small grin when his father let out a sound of interest. “You’ve always been fascinated by the mo-” he cleared his throat, “-by Midgardians.” Father grinned back at his near slip up and then quick correction of it. 

As it turned out, the people of Jötunheimr did not really appreciate the Æsir, the race that had pillaged, colonized and then lorded it all over the other realms since Bor’s rule, touting themselves as immortal gods. Especially when the only reason Midgard had once even considered those of Asgard (and incidentally Loki himself) as higher beings was because the younger realm had been, and continued to be, purposefully kept ignorant by the golden one. It had been quite the blow to Loki’s preconceived notions of frankly everything; that the Jötunn-Áss War had been so much more nuanced than what Odin’s retelling of glorious battle and monstrous “Frost Giants” had been. That the situation had been complicated, and political, and out-right messy. And now that he thought on it further, he doubted Midgardians even called themselves, well, Midgardians anymore, what with the centuries of isolation from the other realms that the Æsir had imposed upon them. He would more than likely have to change his language once he reached the realm through Yggdrasill.

“They are a determined and imaginative peoples, the Midgardians, despite their short lifespans. I find them admirable for it,” Father admitted with ease.

“Perhaps that is what makes them so inventive to begin with, that they should die so early,” Býleistr interjected, speculative.

“That could certainly be one of the reasons. Asgard itself is quite stagnant, in general, after all,” Loki said, for he could count on his fingers how many advancements in any field, up to and including even weaponry, Asgard had made in the over six centuries he had lived there.

“Do you require the servants to prepare anything for your journey?” Father asked him then.

“No, I would much rather make ready myself. There is no need for assistance from the servants,” Loki answered, content. And so, the family continued with their dinner.


End file.
